Olivia Pope, It Girl and Queen
by kerrymarisas
Summary: Olivia Pope reigns over her elite New York Prep School, Fernard-Ingham Academy. Despite her Queen bitch exterior, Olivia's best friend, Fitzgerald Grant knows and loves the real Olivia. Through a series of social events during their final semester at Fernard-Ingham, Fitz is determined to make Olivia Pope fall in love with him. (Oneshot series)


There were things about Olivia Pope that no one knew except for Fitzgerald Grant. Things like the fact that Olivia still slept with her small pink baby pillow that her Grandfather Pope had given to her two days after her birth. Or the fact that Olivia had two switches- very on and very off, the latter making it impossible for her to do much aside from ambling around in her La Perla's and ordering countless bowls of mac 'n cheese from her favorite restaurant in Midtown. Fitz remembered when they were kids, and they still went to the Opera and the Met, and though Liv would never admit it, she always became enchanted by how beautiful the sets were, and how she wished she could create something even a fraction as beautiful. Liv had attempted ballet in the second grade, and once she had realized that every girl in the class had been dancing almost twice as long as her, she quit and took up art classes instead, which were more of a disaster than the ballet classes had been.

Fitz had watched Liv try new thing after new thing, and by the time they entered the prestigious Fernard-Ingham School at age fourteen, Liv was no closer to finding what she was good at than she had been when they were eight.

Now, Fitz was reclining in Liv's bed, surrounded in the comfort that only comes from knowing someone for a number of years.

 _Liv's bed is almost too comfortable_ , Fitz thought, as he watched Liv, who was watching her closet skeptically. She turned, and Fitz couldn't help but admire her beauty, though he'd known her before he could remember, he always found something new to appreciate about her. Today it was her skin, flawless and an even shade of brown. Their families had vacationed together in the South of France for the winter holidays, and Liv had caught more than her fair share of sun.

As Fitz shifted his weight in Liv's bed, he remembered how she'd mentioned that she sometimes felt smothered by the softness of her bed, how she felt like it was possible she could just slip into the center and never find her way out.

Pushing Liv's musings from his mind, Fitz propped himself up on his elbow.

"It's just school,"

He commented, and immediately regretted it as Liv raised her eyebrow at him with reproach.

"The last term of school ever, Fitz. Measures must be taken,"

Liv reminded, her silk nightie hugging her curves effortlessly as she slid her bare foot absentmindedly against the thick area rug.

"Right. Measures."

Fitz echoed, remembering that he had certain measures to take himself. His fall term was already planned out; Harvard business track, like his father and his grandfather. His schedule was already laminated and framed above his corkboard in his room, curtesy of his mother's overinvolved personal assistant, Alisa. He was visiting Harvard for the third time in less than a month, and he had to go about choosing a successor for many of his school responsibilities. Fernard-Ingham believed in establishing a responsibility for each of its seniors, starting in junior year. Fitz wasn't as involved in his extracurriculars as his peers were, but he could understand the importance of 'passing the torch.'

Liv, on the other hand had less official torches to pass. She was one of the most popular girls at Fernard-Ingham, and though she ruled with an iron fist, Fitz knew that she was clinging onto her it-girl status in order to conquer her eight year old self. Liv felt as if she'd never be good at anything, and in being a role model to every girl at Fernard, she was proving herself wrong.

"We have a roll-out of events, you know that. The Collegiate Mixer, the Lost Weekend, Cabin Fever, the Black and White Ball, that Underground Loft Party and Senior Week. We're planning half of that stuff, Fitz."

Fitz rolled his eyes at Liv and smiled.

"Yeah, and not by choice. I'm just glad that Yale is planning the Underground loft thing. That girl is really into punk grunge."

Liv shrugged as she pulled out one of her immaculately pressed uniforms and once again cast a critical eye on it.

"Fitz, should I go with the skirt or the dress?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Fitz countered. Liv never wore the dress option of Fernard's uniform, she had only worn it once, at the first assembly they'd had as freshman, and she'd sworn off of it since.

"Do you even own one of those dresses?"

"Yes. Sort of."

Liv replied, smiling a playful toothy grin at Fitz. Fitz raised an eyebrow.

"Sort of?"

"It's the one from freshman year. And probably about two sizes too small."

"Are you kidding?" Fitz asked her smugly. "You don't grow. If anything you get smaller."

"Shush." Liv replied playfully.

"Well alright then."

Fitz told her, glancing at the sky outside. It was a cool blue, and in the early stages of the morning. From Liv's penthouse at the Oxford, Fitz had learned he could see almost anything differently. Liv liked to look down onto 86th and imagine that she was the only person who knew everyone's secrets below. That was Liv's particular interest- secrets, and the power they held. Guessing what people were hiding gave Liv a certain feeling of power. And though Liv often asserted her dominance in ways that Fitz didn't agree with, Fitz knew that she lashed out because of an inward sense of insecurity. These were the facts about Liv that only he knew; everyone else saw a domineering, confident and efficient girl. Fitz was glad he knew the truth.

Fitz had gotten up before the sun that morning, to be there for Liv. She was always panic nauseous for the first day of term, but this was their last term ever.

"Aren't you worried about wrinkling your uniform?"

Liv asked, as she slipped her nightie off, revealing her lacy black bra and panty set.

"Am I ever worried about wrinkling my uniform?"

Fitz countered, trying not to let his eyes wander the curves of Liv's body. Liv walked to her dresser to retrieve her thigh highs.

"No. But what better time to start? Last term of high school? You could attempt to look like you've been raised well."

Liv shot Fitz another playful look to let him know she was joking.

"Your friends will still chase after me regardless,"

Fitz countered, thinking of Liv's loyal band of wannabees. They had each been after Fitz since they'd started hanging around Liv in the eighth grade. Noelle, Yale, Maverick and Quinn waited outside of the Oxford each morning with a chilled green tea and pomegranate yogurt for Liv. It was a routine, and they'd gotten comfortable enough that they called the doorman, Mr. Mulroney by first name.

"That is very true,"

Liv admitted, shimming the small navy blue skirt over her thighs.

"How about we wager something?"

Fitz asked, finally sitting up from Liv's bed. Liv approached him, still only wearing her bra on her top half.

"I'm listening,"

Liv urged, a few inches from Fitz.

"You wear the dress, and I'll iron."

Liv burst out laughing.

" _You_ will iron? Come on. Be serious. You burn water, Fitz."

"Cooking and ironing are two different things, if we're being honest. I've ironed before. It was my tie… but I've ironed before."

"You ironed your tie because Maverick threw up all over it and you had to have her hand wash it in my bathtub."

Fitz waved his hand.

"Details."

"And why do you want me to wear my dress?"

"Well first, it's time to try something new. Switching it up will reassert your dominance. And you'll look amazing in whatever you wear."

Liv shifted her weight, a smile growing as she thought more about it.

"Okay. I'll give. But you're not burning down my house because you can't iron. I'll do it."

Fitz stood, towering over Liv as he had since they were twelve.

"How domestic of you,"

Fitz commented wryly, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling off his tie with another quick motion. Liv blinked up at him, as Fitz returned her gaze.

"Do you want my pants too?"

Fitz asked, once he was naked from the waist up.

"Huh?"

Liv asked, blinking slowly again.

"To iron?"

"Oh," Liv realized quickly. "Yeah. Of course. We can't have wrinkled pants, can we?"

Fitz chuckled as he removed his pants and handed them to Liv, who held the pile of clothes in her hands

"I'll um. Be back."

Liv stammered, walking away from Fitz.

"You owe me,"

Liv called, turning around just before leaving the room.

Fitz smiled at her wryly.

"I always do."

Fitz reclined back into Liv's bed, watching her go.

There were other things about Olivia Pope that not even she knew. Fitz could never tell her, after she'd gotten her first asshole boyfriend in their first week at Fernard. Even when she'd lost her virginity, Fitz still hadn't given up.

The truth was, he loved everything about Olivia, but his time was running out.


End file.
